


Junkie

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac
Genre: Adrenaline kink, Aged-Up Character(s), Archival Fic, Challenge fic, Community: ironman7, Don't copy to another site, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25206004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: They make the Antichrist feel like the normal one.
Relationships: Johnny "Nny" C./Todd "Squee" Casil
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	Junkie

**Author's Note:**

> Back to working on moving stuff over from the spambot...this is from the 2007 Ironman 7 challenge, prompt was "you're all I need to get high."

Pepito is right on Todd's heels as he sprints up the cracked sidewalk to Nny's front door. There aren't any numbers left on the side of the house, but three darker patches the sun hasn't faded yet say '777.' When he'd asked, Nny admitted to having pulled off the numbers himself, but he wouldn't say what he'd done with them. Todd figures he probably doesn't want to know.

"Squee!" the Antichrist calls after him, a growl surfacing in his voice. "Wait up! You shouldn't--"

Oh, but he should, he really, totally should, and he's already grinning as he hits the door and scrabbles at the knob. It's unlocked of course, and he flings it open like a mad scientist about to announce an impossible success. He wants to shout: "It's alive... _alive_!" but settles for "Nny!" He's the bearer of good tidings, after all, and he's about to demonstrate with a flourish when he realizes he's miscalculated. Again.

Reflex makes him fling the door shut behind him as he drops to a huddled crouch on the floor, covering his head with one arm as he hides behind his knees. He's still in mid-squee when the door rattles against his spine, suddenly peppered with half a dozen knives. He hears Pepito yelp something rude just outside--" _Bless it, Squee_!"--but the words are faint over the roaring in his ears. Pulse hammering in his throat, he looks up to find Nny giving him a flatly puzzled look that changes to sheepish surprise after a hard, quick shake of his head.

"Squee?" Nny asks doubtfully. "Haven't I taught you to knock?"

Question. That was a question, and Todd nods a few more times than he really needs to, but...wow. He ought to be dead.

And oh _God_ , is he hard.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, there's an image of a short, fat little man waking up with a drooling snort and muttering that Squee's erection is _not_ His fault before going back to sleep. Todd accepts this as gospel truth; it'd just figure that even God would forget his real name.)

Nny arches a brow at him, curious and then alarmed, and Todd realizes that his free hand has sort of...gone wandering while he was busy nodding.

"And you stay over there," Nny warns him, pointing for emphasis with knife number seven.

Todd nods again. "Uh-huh. Sure." He'd never say so out loud, but he thinks it's kind of cute that Nny still has touch issues. Big ones. It's only fair that Todd's not the only one getting freaked out by his boyfriend on a regular basis.

He gets a narrow-eyed alley-cat look for that, but when Nny decides Todd's going to keep his pants on--and his hands out of them...really--he settles down and puts the knife away. "So what's so important you nearly got made a pincushion for it?"

If he looks up right now and tilts his head _way_ back, the only thing he'll see are hilts buried flush with the door. He already knows this without looking, so he doesn't look, because if he _does_ , then he'll remember the hollow, humming sound those knives made as they arrowed his way, the weightless feeling in his stomach as he curled up without thinking. He'll remember the blank look on Johnny's face, the intensity in eyes that didn't even see him, and every breath, every lurching beat of his heart, will go straight to his cock.

And then Nny will yell at him to go home, or will himself retreat to the basement where Todd doesn't ever follow him. Only maybe, if Todd's really, really lucky--God, _please_ \--Nny will just...pretend not to notice, or sneak back when Todd's too far into it to stop, and just _watch_.

(The fat little God in his mind nearly rolls out of His throne, muttering in His sleep that Squee clearly needs help, but not _that_ kind of help. Only if Todd isn't going to listen to the psychiatrists when they say things like that, what makes God think he's going to listen to a deadbeat deity?)

Deciding not to push his luck, Todd holds out the thing that started all the commotion with a hopeful smile. So far he hasn't managed to spill a single drop. He wouldn't want Nny to be disappointed in him, after all.

"There's a new Brainfreezy down at the 24-7," he says. "Mucho Mango."

"Mango?" Nny echoes, his eyes round and shining.

"I brought you one," Todd adds, as if the bubble-topped plastic cup isn't obvious enough. Nny's weird that way, though; he'll feed you your left lung for looking at him funny, but some things are sacred. He'd sooner buzz his hair short and wear a suit and tie than steal someone's Brainfreezy. Unless, of course, they're already dead.

"You're such a nice little Squee," Nny says with real fondness, coming over to take the cup from his hand. Nny even lets their fingers brush, and Todd just has to grin. He can tell Nny about the whole new _line_ of Brainfreezies they're coming out with some other time.

Nny wraps his lips around the straw, and the first taste makes his face go lax in something approaching ecstasy. Todd has to strangle a whimper--there ought to be a _law_ , damn it--and he's considering making up a Rule, like the 'Stop Telling the Aliens Where to Find My Parents' rule, except that Nny's surprisingly patient about that sort of thing these days and might actually follow it. Given a choice between a little frustration and not being able to see Nny look like _that_ anymore, he'll take an extra ten minutes in the bathroom for $1000, Alex.

He's about to ask how the Brainfreezy tastes when the door at his back goes _twang_.

"Oh, shit," he yelps, shooting to his feet with a wince that isn't entirely due to forgetfulness. "Pepito!"

"The Antichrist followed you home again?" Nny asks, his blissful look sharpening briefly until he goes back to his drink.

"I think he was worried about me," Todd says as he reaches for the door knob.

Nny just looks surprised. "What for?"

Pepito's still got his hand up, pointy finger cocked, and one of the knife blades stuck through the door is vibrating like a struck tuning fork. If he'd been any closer when Todd slammed the door in his face, he'd probably look as lopsided and mangled as he had on that first day in class all those years ago.

"Yeah," Pepito drawls. "I wonder why."

"Sorry, Pepito," Todd says with a nervous laugh. "Um...do you want to come in? There's just...uh...something I've got to take care of first."

He might be able to fool Nny, but there's no way he can fool the Antichrist. A complete stranger to shame or propriety, Pepito's eyes drop to the front of Todd's pants, brow quirking with a deep lack of surprise. "Adrenaline junkie," Pepito accuses when he glances up again, and Todd's back to nodding, helpless and devout.

"Oh God, yes."

(The fat little God in the back of his mind is wearing earplugs now, smacking His lips a little in His sleep. Todd figures it's probably for the best.)


End file.
